Hate F*@k: The Complete Story

by Ainsley Booth

  “I asked you not to ignore me for weeks, not hours. You said you might be busy.” I shoot him a smile. “You brought me ice cream within a very reasonable time frame of using me for filthy sex. No worries on staying in my dirty-secret good books, okay?”

  He narrows his eyes at me, like I chose the wrong words, but he doesn’t say anything, so I just turn back to the sandwiches. “Mayo?”

  “Please.”

  “Salt and pepper?” I glance at him out of the corner of my eye and he nods, smirking.

  “Two slices of bacon or three—ee!” I squeal as he shoves the sandwich fixings further onto the counter and spins me around, pressing his entire body against mine. “Enough sandwich talk?”

  “Like three questions ago, beautiful.” He kisses me slowly, a belated, extended greeting that warms me from top to bottom. I open for him, and he strokes his tongue against mine, his solid, commanding thrusts silently rewriting our narrative.

  He’s not my dirty secret.

  This isn’t just sex.

  The truth is, as crazy as it sounds given that this is Cole and me, I’m just making my man a sandwich and he’s just glad to see me at the end of a long day.

  He still kisses like a bad-ass, though, leaving me breathless when he finally relaxes his embrace. He stares down at me for a second before smiling just a tiny bit. “Missed you last night.”

  “Same.” I don’t ask where he was. I have the feeling that if he was free, he’d have been here, and since he wasn’t, he was doing something he doesn’t want me to know about. “I’m glad you came over, even though I’m a bit of a dragon lady.”

  “Love it when you spit fire at me.” He winks and spins me around. “Keep cooking.”

  “Yeah, real fancy dinner.” I finish up, Cole’s hands on my hips the whole time, his chin against my hair. This is nice. Dangerously lovely, in fact, and I want to guard myself against letting it get too deep, but it’s probably too late. Two nights, a few heated encounters, and I’m hooked on him.

  “Go sit,” I whisper, and he kisses my hair.

  “Can I grab us some drinks?”

  “There’s beer and wine in the fridge. Some Perrier—I’ll have that, please—and OJ? But it might be past its prime.”

  “Beer it is.” He grabs a bottle for himself and the sparkling water for me, and leads the way to the couch.

  I flick on the television and look over at him, taking in his fitted black suit and tie, and white shirt. He’s even wearing dress shoes instead of boots. “You’re all dressed up. I feel like I should offer you a martini or something.”

  Cole closes his eyes and snorts, then slowly undoes his tie as he tips his head back against my couch. “I know it goes against my James Bond image, but I can’t stand martinis.”

  My breath catches in my throat because I hate his James Bond image. Even though it’s hot, I want him to secretly be different. “No?”

  “Beer and a burger kind of guy. Beer, burger, and babe.” He looks at the sandwiches in my hands, then flicks his gaze to my face as he gives me a big, sexy grin. “Or sandwich and babe. Come here.”

  “I’m all schlubby.” But I put the plates down because I’m being silly, and we both know it.

  “Do I look like I care? You look comfortable. You know who’s not comfortable? Me. I need a warm woman in my lap and a sweet mouth to kiss for a minute. Get your ass over here.”

  I climb into his lap, loving the way he spreads his solid, muscled thighs wide. How his arms easily wrap around me, and the hungry way his hands glide over my curves. We kiss again, this time more playfully, before I slide over to sit next to him. We eat our sandwiches together in silence, watching the news, then he takes our plates away and returns with two bowls of ice cream and the bottle of chocolate syrup.

  The top of the hour headlines have just finished, so I turn the volume down and curl into his side. “This is really good.”

  “You deserve good. You deserve the best.”

  I want to sink into this warmth. I want this moment to last forever, except for the whole cramping-and-having-my-period annoyance.

  And when we finish our ice cream, Cole takes the sweetness to the next level. “I want to take you on a date.”

  “What?” I twist to look at him.

  “A date. You. Me. A movie and popcorn.”

  God. I can’t even handle this. Time for snark. “I like junior mints.”

  “Good. We’ll get those, too. And I’m going to hold your hand.”

  The way he says it makes me laugh. “Are you warning me?”

  “I don’t want it to be too much in the moment.” He says this straight, and for a second I’m not sure, but the way he pulls me close, like he might not want me to see his eyes crinkle…that has to be a tell.

  “Shut up.” I mumble that into his chest. Never mind being too much then…this level of boyfriend behavior might be too much right freakin’ now. We sit there for a minute, me buried in his chest, before I slowly prop myself up on his lap and try to be real for a second. “We don’t need to go out. I like you coming over with ice cream.”

  Cole clearly doesn’t like me compromising on this point. He narrows his eyes. “Your last date before me took you to the Kennedy Center.”

  “Yeah, but it wasn’t really that great to begin with, then some asshole kind of interrupted it and…” My cheeks turn pink. I can’t help it.

  His hands tighten on my hips. “Say it.” He dropped his gaze to my mouth. I lick my lips. It’s like a reflex, I can’t help it, and I like how his eyes darken in response. “Wicked woman.”

  I slide my arms around his neck and cuddle closer, bringing my lips to his ear. “My last date was interrupted by a sexy bad boy who went down on me in an empty concert hall while Washington’s snootiest milled about in the lobby.”

  “That’s better,” he mutters, squeezing the back of my neck. This is the wrong conversation to have when indisposed. We are both getting worked up, I’m all tight and achey inside, and, well, his arousal is obvious on the outside. The solid length of him is pressing insistently against my thigh. As much fun as flirting and cuddling is, I’m leading him on.

  I shake my head. “This isn’t fair, I’m sorry.”

  “Don’t do that.”

  “What?”

  “Don’t assume that I’m a monster who can’t contain himself.” He rocks against me. “Neither of us needs to get naked or come to have a good time. We don’t need to talk about sex, but I gotta say, doing a recap of the first time I tasted you sounds like a great way to spend some time. Builds a nice slow burn of anticipation for the next time we do that.”

  I must be dreaming. That’s the only reasonable explanation.

  “Who are you and what have you done with Cole Parker?” When he just smirks at me, I slowly kiss him, languid and tender this time, just touching and tasting until we’re both warm and drowsy and we slip sideways on the couch. Cole tucks me in front of him and we watch the next set of headlines—how has an hour slipped by?—and then he tucks a lock of my hair behind my ear and quietly asks if he can stay over.

  Seriously. I never want to wake up. This is like some magical alternate reality where Cole and I can actually date and be a normal couple.

  It’s the best thing I can imagine.

  I find him a toothbrush and we take turns washing up, then snuggle in my bed wearing just our underwear. I was going to find a t-shirt to sleep in, but as I got down to my panties, he tugged me into bed, and now we’re wrapped around each other. His phone blows up a few times, but he never takes long and when he props up on one arm and asks me what I’m thinking about, I take a chance and tell him the truth.

  “Help me understand your job.”

  He blinks at me. “Not sure that I can, but I’ll try.”

  I roll onto my side so we’re nose to nose, and he wraps his arm around me. “Why do you do it? You could do anything else, right? Regular old security. James Bond stand-in. Grumpy old man lessons.”

  He
laughs. “None of those sound like fun.”

  “Neither does what you do—I mean, you don’t seem to enjoy it.” I hold my breath after the words rush out of me, because it’s entirely possible I’m way overstepping the bounds of our fledgling relationship.

  The seconds stretch as he looks at me, a long, thinking-man’s pause before he cocks his head to the side and gives me half a smile. “No, my job isn’t fun, either. But it brought me you, and this, right now? Is the most fun I’ve ever had in my entire life.”

  I laugh, because that has to be a lie. “More fun than what we did at the Kennedy Center?”

  “That was hot. And fun, yes. But this…” He shakes his head as he strokes a hand up and down my spine. “I didn’t know this was possible for me. Dinner on the couch, talking about work. Laughing together. It’s…”

  “Weird? Freaking? Scary?”

  He sticks his tongue out at me, a playful gesture that punches me right in the ovaries. “It’s fun.”

  Oh.

  But I still don’t get the job thing. And it’s none of my business, but I keep asking because I feel like I can, like he’ll let me pick at this scab until I’m satisfied. “Then why? Why not do something more satisfying?”

  “I’m not sure what else I would do, for one thing. I joined the Navy right out of high school. And also because I can do this stuff. Because others can’t, and someone has to. We have a certain skill set that is in demand.”

  “Okay.” I still don’t like it, but I get it now.

  “What else is on your mind?”

  “That’s probably enough for one night.” I smile up at him.

  “I don’t want any doubts between us. If you’ve got worries about me, I want to hear them.” His eyes glow as he squeezes my hips. “I can deal with any obstacles between us, but I have to know what they are.”

  “I’m not going to ask you what you were doing last night…” I trail off, wanting to get these words just right.

  Cole misunderstands my slowdown, and he shakes his head softly. “I can’t tell you. You don’t want to know, I promise.”

  I frown. “Okay on the first point. Totally okay. I started saying the wrong thing there, give me a second. But on the second point? Don’t shield me from the ugliness of life, Cole.”

  He presses his lips together like he wants to argue that point but thinks better of it. “Go on.” His eyes soften. “Please.”

  “I’m not going to leap to any conclusions, but I have to know…That first night, when we slept together here. When you left. You put yourself in the middle of that investigation because you knew you had an alibi, right? You knew you had me?”

  He shifts beside me. We’re almost naked, except for underwear. There’s literally nothing between us but secrets. My pulse picks up, because I didn’t mean to make this a turning point in our relationship, but now it just might be exactly that.

  Can I handle whatever answer he gives me? I want to think I can, but my pulse says otherwise. Please be my white knight. I hate that I want him to be good.

  It should probably be enough that he’s good to me.

  His arms tighten around me. “I knew I was on camera. I knew my cell phone would place me not at the scene of the crime. I never intended for you to be involved.”

  “What about after? I was so scared. It’s hard for me to wrap my head around it being no big deal to you.”

  “You being exposed to something like that is a big deal. Will always be a big deal. But I’ll never be the one to show it to you.”

  He’s right. And I can’t very well tell him he can’t keep secrets from me—a conversation he’s neatly avoided, because he’s going to keep doing just that, damn him—and in the next breath complain about being touched by some of the drama in his life.

  “You’re a bit bossy, you know that?”

  He kisses my forehead. “How I’ve gotten through life.”

  I burrow my face into his bare chest. He’s turned over a new, sweet leaf, but this is still Cole. Locked up tight and always in charge.

  One deep and meaningful conversation isn’t going to change that.

  Probably a lifetime won’t change that.

  And here I am, cuddled naked in his arms, sleepily wondering if that might just be okay with me. I’m probably ten kinds of foolish, but in this moment, I’ve got more than I ever dreamed possible. It’s not the future I imagined for myself, but now it’s the one I want more than anything.

  —twelve—

  Cole

  We’ve spent the last week and a half together. Nights wrapped around each other and days spent busy getting shit done so we can do it all over again.

  It feels normal. And so fucking fragile I’m a little scared to breathe the wrong way, because when I’m not with her, I’m buried in a mountain of twisted depravity that makes me sick and it has no end. Clara Forrester has agreed to talk to the FBI, and Tag will fly her to Miami after I get confirmation that the Feds have enough of an investigation to make an arrest after her interview.

  Because she’s got a lot. Dates, times. People. A Danish prince and an Australian politician. Business leaders. Some people, like Morgan Reid, the FBI might be able to flip into witnesses, because Clara Forrester has pictures.

  And now we have those pictures, too. But without context, those pictures mean nothing.

  We can’t let her down, so we dig and document.

  At the end of every day, I feel sick.

  Two decades of Lively entertaining men with young women he lures into his world and holds captive. A gilded cage, apparently, but a cage nonetheless. And sex acts that change them forever.

  Even Clara, who was a willing guest, was coerced into acts she didn’t want to participate in.

  It makes me want to tear Lively apart.

  But when I come back to Hailey’s place, all that fades away. She smiles brightly at me and welcomes me into her heart and her body, shows me how good love can be, and all is right for a few hours.

  I’m being selfish, and she doesn’t even know it, so tonight is our first official date, and it’s all for her.

  After a debate on what movie we should see turned into sex against the wall and no agreement, Hailey suggested we do something else, which is how I’ve ended up in a fucking hipster dive bar on H Street.

  My woman is in her element, gleefully ordering a third round of a drink called Awesomeness, which tastes too good to not be dangerous. I’m on my second gin and tonic, and I’m nursing it because any second this place could get shut down for a health code or safety violation.

  “Isn’t this music awesome? Like the drink?” she yells, pressing herself into my side.

  I have to admit the music is good. Hard and loud. Not exactly romantic, but it does give me other ideas. “You want to dance?”

  Her eyes get all big and round and she licks her lips. “Really?”

  Fuck yes, if the mere suggestion gets her worked up. The actual thing will be our quickest ticket back to her place.

  It’s entirely possible that I’m the worst boyfriend in the world. I don’t have a lot of experience, not that it’s an excuse. It doesn’t take a genius to understand that dating is about showering attention on a woman while she has her clothes on, because you like her and want to burrow yourself deeper in her life, and obviously you aren’t good enough for that, so you need to earn your way in.

  And since this is Hailey and me, I’ve got a long fucking hill to climb, and I’m not good at this. I should be—it’s not far off from the shmoozing that I so unexpectedly took to like a fish to water when we moved to D.C. But the stakes are different with that. Those people need me more than I need them. There’s always another sorry loser fucking up his life.

  With Hailey, the shoe is on the other foot. Any second, she’s going to realize I’m not good enough for her. That I’m a professional liar and a cheat, and no amount of financial or political security will make up for that in her eyes.

  Just my luck to fall for a woman with an u
nwavering moral compass and the internal fortitude to walk away from wealth and power because it’s the right thing to do.

  Of course, that she did that just makes me want her all the more.

  She twists in front of me, swivelling her hips through the drunken crowd. She’s wearing dark jeans and knee-high boots with a sparkly tank top under a tiny jacket. I can’t keep my eyes off her.

  On the dance floor, I grab her close and spin her around so my front is pressed against her back.

  I grind my cock into her ass as she tips her head back against my shoulder. I want to hold her here forever. I get her for a minute before she spins away. As the music pulses through the air, she peels off her jacket, baring the long smooth expanse of her arms, golden pink under the dance floor lights. I grab the loose end of the jacket, reeling her in for a quick taste of her mouth.

  “This isn’t dancing,” she says, her face still pressed to mine, close enough I can’t see the smile. But I can feel it.

  “This is better,” I growl, banding my arms around her waist as she slides her fingers through the short hair at the back of my neck. I move us to the heavy thump of the music, my thigh sliding between her legs, and we kiss again, over and over again until she’s panting and I’m ready to find a dark corner.

  But this is our first date, and I want to earn—legitimately, for once in my life—the right to a second. And a third. And a tenth. So when a couple beside us bump us apart, I keep the few inches of distance and actually start dancing.

  This isn’t a bad move, because although I’d rather be kissing Hailey, I actually do know how to dance.

  And she’s impressed, but so am I, because where I’ve got some moves, she’s got more, and they’re good.

  She rolls her body, mirroring what I do, and we flow together, almost meeting at the hips each time before sliding away. I keep one hand on her at all times—my fingers grazing down her arm, then my other palm cupping her waist as she twists in the other direction.

  Her gaze is glued on me. Always dark. Pleased, with an edge of wanting more. I can’t keep my eyes on hers, because the rest of her is shimmying in ways that jack up my blood pressure, but every time my roving gaze finds her face again, she’s still looking at me.